


How to Bake an Advantage

by famoushoney (Aliceinblunderland)



Category: Ouran High School Host Club - All Media Types
Genre: Angst, Baking, F/M, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-06-26
Updated: 2017-07-07
Packaged: 2018-11-19 05:55:56
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,393
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11307108
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Aliceinblunderland/pseuds/famoushoney
Summary: All Yelim Kwon wants to do is decorate beautiful cakes for her family's bakery. Then, the Kwon Bakery is all but forced to cater an Ootori family event, leaving Yelim at odds with their most frustrating client: Ootori Kyoya. Eventually, her feelings start to change in the worst way possible.Read for: baking! angst! earl grey shortbread cookies!





	1. Step 1: Prep

**Author's Note:**

> I had originally planned this story seven years ago, when I first became enamored with the worlds of Ouran High School Host Club and fanfiction. I posted a “preview first chapter” on an account that I am now embarrassed about, and never touched it again. Afterwards, I dropped the idea of writing Fanfiction altogether to focus on school. Now, my reignited interest in anime and the world’s obsession with a certain British competitive baking show have reminded me of this story idea. While my original idea was an approximately 10-15-chapter story, I scrapped most of it and redesigned it into a two-shot. Depending on how well this goes I might further explore the Ouran/baking world beyond this story, but at this point it’s a 15% chance. I hope you enjoy!

Yelim Kwon was piping the final touches on one of the gaudiest cakes imaginable. The monstrosity was for a bachelorette party and blindingly pink, covered in what had to be pounds of fondant. Why was it that fondant was always the preferable icing with these kinds of cakes when the much tastier buttercream could easily do the trick? Ah, well. Yelim was in the middle of adding another red heart onto the top tier of the cake when her mother called, “Yelim! That Ootori boy is here to see you!” 

Out of her control, Yelim’s heart picked up its pace the slightest bit, and a buzz of adrenaline ran through her body before quickly being dampened by a sense of dread. She hadn’t seen Kyoya in a week. More accurately, she had been avoiding Kyoya for a week. Texts and calls from him went unanswered. She faked an illness and stayed home on Wednesday, the day Kyoya usually came into the bakery. Thank God they didn’t go to the same school.

 _How did I get here?_ Yelim thought. Her memory took her back a year and a half ago, when Ootori Fuyumi had waltzed in and inquired whether Yelim’s family’s bakery could cater her wedding, a week before the wedding was to occur. Yelim refused politely, but adamantly.  Fuyumi walked out and Yelim had thought that was the end of it. However, the next day, Kyoya walked in like he owned the place, and coolly communicated a list of demands for his older sister’s wedding. Yelim fumed and fought as hard as she could, but, mysteriously, the clients for the rest of the week had dropped their catering reservations, and the Kwon Bakery had no choice but to accept the Ootori family as clients.

The more she learned about the Ootori family, the more she hated everything they stood for. They had virtually forced the Kwons to work for them – who were they to have that sense of entitlement? Learning of the family’s reputation and their combined net worth only fueled her internal rage. Kyoya hadn’t helped at all. He was in the bakery every day after school, watching over every process like a hawk that somehow needed glasses. When he wasn’t clacking away at that laptop of his, he would be breathing down Yelim’s neck about cake recipes and decoration precision, about the quality of ingredients used in the food, about anything and everything. Yelim took each comment as a personal criticism. How dare he act like he knew everything there was to know about something that had been a part of her life since the day she was born? Her mother liked to say that she could pipe before she walked. How dare he intrude and ruin the one thing that had given her peace and joy her entire life? They clashed and bickered every day as they approached Fuyumi’s wedding day, until finally, two days before the wedding, her mother forbade her from talking back. The Ootori’s were the best clients the bakery had ever served, she said, and serving them successfully would give the struggling bakery a good reputation. There was a plea in her mother’s eyes that Yelim couldn’t ignore, something that took root at the very depths of her heart. So, Yelim fell silent to Kyoya’s constant criticism and turned the other cheek.

Kyoya must have sensed something had been pushed too far, and started to become more silent himself. He began to spend more time in the booth he had set up for himself, typing away on what looked like several spreadsheets, whenever she stole a glance. Strangely, Yelim found herself missing something as she obediently worked on each tier of Fuyumi’s cake. She brushed it off by telling herself that she missed Kyoya’s voice because it was like white noise- a constant hum of incisive chatter and back-and-forth that simply relaxed her and sharpened her focus.

Then, the day of the wedding came. As Fuyumi walked down the aisle and said her vows, Yelim was busy transferring the cake tiers out of the refrigerated truck onto the elaborately decorated tables at the reception location. With the help of her fellow bakery workers, she deliberately placed each tier on top of the other, using a small step ladder to place the final decorations. Instead of the corny and traditional wedding figurines, Fuyumi opted for a piped rose and chrysanthemum, to represent her husband and herself, respectively. Yelim, somewhat reluctantly, had to admire Fuyumi’s taste. Plus, it gave Yelim an artistic challenge. After finishing the final touches of the cake, Yelim stepped back to admire her creation from afar. Then, he felt a familiar presence standing behind her, a little to the left, casting a bit of a shadow on the cake.

“Shouldn’t you be watching your sister get married?” Yelim asked, without taking her eyes off the cake.

“I have greater utility as a brother who makes sure the reception is set up properly than as a brother who passively sits and watches his sister enter an arranged marriage.” Kyoya remarked with an even tone.

“How pragmatic.” Neither of them said a word for a couple of moments. Yelim continued appraising her cake, finally deeming herself satisfied with it. She almost made a motion to leave before hearing Kyoya.

“It’s beautiful.”  It was an olive branch, a peace offering. With each cake Yelim created, she gave a piece of herself, so she couldn’t help but imagine that Kyoya’s compliment to the cake was a compliment to herself as a person dedicated to her craft.

She paused a bit before replying. “Thank you. You’re a good brother.”

Kyoya quipped, “Perhaps… a little too good.” She had understood what he was trying to say. While there was an inherent part of Kyoya’s personality that made him objective and utilitarian to a fault, that made him distant and stern, and perhaps a little cold, these traits were magnified thousands of times over in the stress of trying to create a perfect experience for his older sister. It was sweet, in a way, and Yelim understood. After all, many of her blow-ups towards Kyoya had also stemmed from familial devotion.

After the Ootori wedding, the following months passed by in a flurry. As her mother predicted, the infamous Ootori influence sent the Kwon bakery into overdrive. Her family’s bakery was sought after all over Tokyo, and even in some outlying prefectures. The bakery had even once catered the wedding of some distant member of royalty in China.

Oh, and Kyoya stuck around, too. He’d visit at least once a week, remarking that the bakery was a good place for him to work, since nobody he knew would be around to bother him (this comment irked Yelim, actually, since it implied that nobody _of importance_ would be around her bakery to bother him). In any case, he started to become a tolerated, if not welcome presence in the Kwon family bakery. There was an understanding between Yelim and Kyoya after the wedding. Additionally, when the bakery started to rise in popularity, Kyoya helped streamline their catering process so everything worked more efficiently. He helped install a software system that would keep track of scheduling clients, and while Yelim missed the huge pen-and-paper calendar that used to hang on the wall to keep track of events, she agreed the software was the better option.

Upon being asked why he was doing so much to help the bakery, Kyoya simply answered, “Your bakery’s continued success is advantageous to me”. Yelim rolled her eyes a bit, but she figured that’s the way he saw the world. With these changes, Kwon Bakery would continue to be a useful work space for him. Not to mention, her family gave him free food as a token of their immense gratitude. Yelim understood the sentiment, but she ultimately thought it was a waste. Kyoya was so rich, the cost of the food wouldn’t affect him at all and the bakery would just be losing money.  

Kyoya eventually started bringing his friends over about once a month or so, a troop of them actually, all of whom would insist on squeezing into the small booth and a couple of chairs, even though there were 7 of them and the booth was designed to fit four. The small one would often sit on the quiet one’s lap, though, so they were able to save some space. As the year went on, Yelim would often overhear their rather loud conversations, and learned as much as she wanted to know about their strange “host club”. Her family often catered their events, which the Host Club _did_ pay for, at Kyoya’s insistence and the Kwon family’s protest.

Even though the group overwhelmed her, and she didn’t spend too much time with the group, serving the charismatic club over the year gave her a certain rapport with them. She started to look forward to overhearing all of their wacky adventures and the entertaining club themes, and getting to know each member a bit. It took her a bit of time, but she eventually noticed that one them was not who “he” appeared to be. She also noticed that the rest of the club were all at least a little bit in love with her: Fujioka Haruhi. Even Kyoya, maybe. Yelim especially favored the small one, who was effusive about how delicious “Ye-chan’s” cakes were. She thought for three straight months that the club was lying when they stated he was one of their oldest members. Hani finally showed her his school ID card and then Yelim just thought he was a forger. She didn’t get extremely close to the group, however. Their combined energies and overall flirty attitudes made her anxious. She couldn’t tell who was who between the twins. She doubted she and the Morinozuka Takashi ever exchanged a word.

The deeper connection she made during that time was with Kyoya, whose weekly visits made him a more familiar person, and whose solitary presence made Yelim more comfortable – more “whelmed”, she supposed. They discussed business ideas together and she often inquired about his work and those mysterious spreadsheets. Their banter was still on the edge of aggression, but in a friendly, joking way. She hated herself for it because he was still an entitled bastard, but she started looking forward to his visits.

The year ended and to Yelim’s surprisingly deep sadness, Hani left for university. The seven members became five, better spread around the table. Kyoya entered his final year at Ouran Academy, starting to apply to university himself in his diligent way (Yelim was always envious of his natural repulsion to procrastination), and Yelim entered her second year at Ouran Public.

Yelim and Kyoya’s relationship grew stronger and stronger. Yelim learned to look through his cold exterior and “purely objective” reasoning for the underlying warmth she knew was there at times. She liked to call his way of speaking “Ootor-ese”: that overly formal and mechanic way he strung his sentences together. She knew his order by heart, and trusted him to accurately judge any new recipes she was testing. He gave a “yes” to the Earl Grey shortbread cookies, and a hard “no” to her almond flour pound cake.

One day Yelim was washing her hands at the bakery, and while she looked up at her reflection in the mirror, flour dusting her black hair (which was bunched up very attractively in a hair net), she realized she was falling in love. Immediately, she gave herself a light slap, soap bubbles making her cheek sticky, and she vigorously scrubbed between her fingers and splashed her face with the icy water. This couldn’t happen, she told herself, for so, so many reasons. Too many reasons. She pushed her feelings down somewhere deep inside herself, stuffing them into a chest, locking the key, and throwing it into the part of her brain where she would forget everything: in the same area her calculus antiderivative formulas seemed to go.

She maintained her friendship normally, she hoped, praying that he wouldn’t notice anything with those incisive powers of observation he wielded. Thankfully, it seemed, those skills didn’t seem to transfer in the world of feelings. If her heart panged a little bit whenever he mentioned a girl he was hosting, or Haruhi, she did her best to not let it show, internally chastising herself along the way. This went on for months.  
  
It almost came crashing down one day at the end of January during her second year at Ouran Public. Her family was preparing food for the Host Club’s Cherry Blossom Ball, scheduled to happen in a couple of days. Yelim took a break from food prep to top off Kyoya’s almost-oversteeped Earl Grey tea, just the way he liked it: strong and slightly bitter. He looked hard at work, so Yelim poured the tea silently. Then, without looking away from his computer screen, while continuing to type, Kyoya said, “Come with me to the Cherry Blossom Ball.” Yelim thought she misheard him.

“I don’t think I heard you correctly.”

“And here I thought you spoke Japanese. I think you heard me correctly.” He smirked. Yelim rolled her eyes. She considered that most of the time she spent talking with Kyoya, her eyes were staring at the ceiling. She turned away from the wall to look at the interior of the bakery, sure that an embarrassing blush was rising to her cheeks. Her heart started beating a little faster. She was at a loss for words.

“Why? And you could ask me like a person, you know, instead of commanding me like a dog.” She found herself surprised at how angry she sounded.

Kyoya seemed unfazed. To Yelim’s frustration, he even seemed entertained. “Come, now, Ye-chan, why do I do anything?  Your presence at the ball would be advantageous to me.” It suddenly made sense to Yelim, which made her feel relieved, but perhaps the slightest bit disappointed. The Cherry Blossom Ball was one of the Club’s largest events, and the one that gave them school-wide recognition if only for its sheer beauty. Almost everybody in the school would come, and Yelim’s presence would make sure everything on the food-side of the event ran smoothly.

Yelim considered how painful and degrading it would be to go to the ball not as Kyoya’s date, but as his servant. However, Kyoya had done so much for the bakery, including getting this gig, that it would be ridiculous to refuse. Not to mention, against her better judgement, there was the pathetic part of her that was pining to go to an event like this with Kyoya, even if it was all just a guise.

She gave her answer with a sigh. “I suppose. I’ll do it since I’m your friend. I’ll have to be there anyway to set up the food, so all I have to do be nicely dressed.” She picked up the tea pot and walked back to the kitchen before remarking, “By the way, in the future, I will never say ‘yes’ to a command.”

Over the next few months, Kyoya would ask, yes, ask, her more frequently to attend these sorts of functions. She even went to the Host Club a couple of times, and while each event brought the same underlying pangs, she felt she was being useful and a good friend. She also enjoyed herself, especially when she first saw Kyoya acting in a “host” capacity. It took everything she had to keep herself from bursting from laughter. She liked seeing him entertain, in the few times he did so. He added a touch of grace to every word and action in his hosting, and even though she knew it was all an act, it also seemed like he was able to express some parts of himself he normally kept underneath his ever-present mask. But then again, who was she to know? If she subconsciously considered the idea that Kyoya was starting to favor her beyond the category of “useful friend”, she would shut it down before letting those ideas enter her conscious thought.  She remembered a moment when she suggested off-hand that the food could be personalized and themed to each host, beyond the specificity of day’s theme. Hikaru and Kaoru’s desserts could be flavored around cinnamon and cardamom themes, for example, reflecting their spicy and loud personalities, and the similar but distinct flavors of their personalities. Tamaki’s cakes would be flavored with lemon and vanilla, bright and light, etc. Kyoya had actually stopped typing, turning away to look at Yelim without speaking, almost to the point that it became uncomfortable. Finally, he asked, with a strange tone, “And what would my flavor be?”

Yelim answered without a moment of hesitation, “Dark chocolate. It’s not for everyone, but it’s complex. Slightly bitter, but that only serves to bring out the rich intensity of the flavor. Besides, they don’t call you the Shadow King for nothing.” Kyoya listened to the answer in silence, before returning to work on his laptop. Next week’s bakery order for the Host Club came in with a request for themed flavors. It brought a smile to Yelim, and the desserts ended up becoming very popular with the customers.  

Meanwhile, the chest she kept under lock-and-key was undergoing a lot of pressure. She felt it was at risk of explosion, and it took almost all of her energy to keep it under control. But last week, it all went to pieces.

There she was, at the host club again at Ouran Academy, replacing the last petite madeleine, since the first batch that had run out with the first wave of customers. She took the time to watch what was happening with a curious eye from the back corner. The Club was chugging along, the twins doing their strange act in one area, Haruhi at another. Tamaki had just finished hosting a client when he bounced up to Kyoya, “Kyoya!!! You don’t have any treasured customers today?”

“It appears not, Tamaki.” Kyoya replied in that even tone of his, reflecting a patience he reserved only for Tamaki.

“Kyoya, you need to spend less time away from that screen. It’s bad for your eyes, you know. WAIT. I have an idea!” Yelim felt a sudden sense of foreboding; Tamaki’s epiphanies rarely turned out well. “You should host Ye-chan! She’s worked so hard and she’s never experienced the famous Ouran Host Club experience before!” Yelim was frozen in time and space. A flurry of words came out of her mouth somehow, without her conscious direction, “Oh, oh no – I shouldn’t… wouldn’t… um. I don’t want to disturb his work, and I’m busy here, Um…”

Kyoya interrupted, turning from his computer, and sliding the glasses up the bridge of his nose. “On the contrary, you just finished replenishing the food on the table, and coincidentally, I just finished calculating this week’s budget. And it would be useful for you to understand the Club’s business from the client side.” It took Yelim a couple of moments to understand what he was saying, and when she finally did, she could do only one thing. She turned away, picked up her things, and rapidly made her way out of the room, muttering, “I have to go” when she remembered to.

So it was that. _That_ was how she got here. In the bakery. With her hands stained with pink frosting. On a Friday, when Kyoya rarely ever came. Yet there he was. She could see him through the glass window separating the bakery from the customer dining area- standing in front of the cash register. And there she was, with no place to hide, because when she spotted him, it was clear that he had already spotted her, and was waiting for their eyes to meet. 


	2. Bake

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: This wraps up the two-shot that was supposed to be the ending of a longer fic I started planning five years ago. In the original story, most of the plot points described here would have been more spread out (over multiple chapters to span 1.5 years), which is something I might do in the future. However, I was desperate to tie up the loose ends I made for myself, so this ended up becoming an extremely condensed version of the longer story I initially planned. Hope you enjoy!

Yelim gave a short nod to Kyoya, signaling that she would be right there to meet him at the counter. The baker started untying the knot of her apron and removing it, draping the cloth over the wooden stool she had been sitting on to decorate that God forsaken cake. The apron removal was completely unnecessary, but it gave her some time to think about her opening line, her next move. Strangely, she felt calm.

Option 1: She could go straight to the heart of the matter, and apologize for her “actions” at the Host Club (i.e. running away like a madwoman). She wouldn’t tell the whole truth, but maybe she’d go as far as to say that she felt overwhelmed at the time, or maybe that she didn’t like having too much attention on herself. Technically, it wasn’t a lie- just not the full truth.

Option 2: Or she could go for the “ignorance” route and skip on over the cash register, throw a quick greeting before immediately asking what he’d like to order - ridiculous, since she knew his orders so well that he never walked to the cash register. It wasn’t like he was paying for his meals, either.

In the few seconds she had to mull over her options, her brain worked at light speed to weigh the pros and cons. For Option 1, she could get the serious stuff over with right away, without having to delve too deeply into her feelings (she light-speed gagged at the thought). She could take control of the situation. However, Option 1 came with the guarantee that the topic would be discussed in some capacity, and maybe that could be avoided. Option 2 would leave room for complete silence on the subject. If Kyoya didn’t even want to talk about Yelim’s absence, then it wouldn’t be talked about. Perhaps he had come to talk about the next Host Club order, or a new cost-saving system for the bakery, or Australian politics, or whatever. The problem with Option 2 was that if he did want to have a conversation about it, he would be the one to bring it up, leaving the line of interrogation in his control. Yelim knew first-hand how deftly Kyoya handled power, and she did not want to be on the other side of it, not again, especially not now.

In the end, taking off her apron for those extra seconds of thought didn’t matter, because all rationality went flying out the window once she was within ear’s reach of Kyoya and she blurted out, rather maniacally, “Ootori-san is here? I thought it was Friday not a Wednesday! Ahahaha-” She tried not to think about how incredibly fake her laugh sounded, or about how she was still laughing even though the joke had ended long ago. The joke quality to laugh ratio, which should’ve been non-existent, was quickly approaching zero.

Kyoya waited for the embarrassing amount of time it took Yelim to finish her laugh, before remarking, “Still so formal.”

Out of all the ways Kyoya could have responded, this was one she hadn’t expected at all. She was brought back to her first time serving the Host Club in the bakery, when she was first introduced to the unforgettably flamboyant Tamaki Suoh while taking their orders.

_“It’s… nice to meet you, Suoh-san,” she had stated timidly, whiplashed by his aggressively energetic nature._

_“Ehh?!?! Why so formal? Is it because I’m a customer? Then don’t serve me! I want us to be friends!”_

_Yelim chuckled nervously before explaining, “No, no. It’s a matter of habit. My early childhood was in a country that didn’t use such a specific honorific system. When I first came to Japan and was learning the language I got chastised heavily by teachers and elders when I didn’t use the right suffix properly, so I address everybody as formally as possible to be safe… and it’s also because you’re my customer.” Tamaki was still inconsolable and was offering to serve himself until Yelim conceded that, if specifically requested by the person, she would use less formal language. Over the following year, most of the Host Club members around her age had requested the “first name-Kun” format, as Yelim refused to leave any member’s name unsuffixed. It sounded too taboo, too naked, even with the students in her own year. Hani and Mori had their shortened last names followed by “-san”. All of the members had requested some form of diminution, that is, except one: Kyoya himself._

“Well you never asked to change it, did you?” Yelim felt the hurt unintentionally leave her tongue. Yelim had created this “most formal first” rule as a way to protect herself from her own cultural naiveté, but it also forced her to define her relationships with people as distantly as possible, both linguistically and cognitively. The Host Club’s generally philanthropic nature encouraged her to shorten the distances between herself and the other six members, but the psychological gap between herself and Kyoya remained. She supposed it was a counterintuitive situation: she had spent the most time with Kyoya, to the point where her formal address sounded like a joke to everybody else. Nevertheless, his personality and his elevated status within her family’s bakery made it easier than expected to continue to address him so formally. And maybe there was a small part of her that appreciated the fact that he never asked for a less formal address. That way, there was a constant reminder for her to stay away – the gap, in this case, was good.

“You are a puzzling woman, Yelim.” He remarked.

“I… don’t know how I’m supposed to respond to that.” She stated coolly.

“Then, tell me,” Kyoya started, “what do you call me in your own head?” He pushed his glasses up the bridge of his nose, and Yelim quickly thought about how much she missed the sight.

It took a bit of time for Yelim to understand what Kyoya was saying, before she remembered a moment of that first day, when Tamaki was begging her to call him by something less formal. She got flustered while he was in the middle of his desperate rant (desperant?) when she muttered under her breath, “Why does it matter, anyway? I call you all something differently in my head anyway”. When Yelim left her native country, she shook off a lot of things attached to it: the accent, the TV show knowledge, the preschool friends, but she never shook off the way she learned to see people. In her native country, new people were always called by their last names, and the closer her relationship to them, the more likely she’d address them by first name. After all these years in Japan, she couldn’t shake this internal naming convention. So, while she addressed Hani as “Hani-san”, she thought of him as “Hani” (but they still weren’t close enough for her to use his first name). Mori-san was Morinozuka in her head. The Hitachiins, whom she still couldn’t tell apart, were the Hitachiins, etc. The rest of the club was categorized into the “last name” group, except…- In any case, she hadn’t thought that anyone had heard her when she mentioned her thought process behind names. No one had responded to her at the time, but apparently one person was paying attention.

She couldn’t let slip how surprised she was, though. She couldn’t let him have that power. “And what makes you believe I think about you that often?” She tried to joke light-heartedly but the warning bells were ringing in her head. She felt the adrenaline rush through her body, readying itself for fight or flight.

Kyoya didn’t react. He simply stated, “Yelim I’m not here to play games. Will you please tell me what how you refer to me, in your own mind?”

Yelim exhaled a small breath when she recognized that he was asking her, not commanding her, to give this information. She looked away, pained. There was no escaping. He knew. He knew that her mind had spent so much time contemplating the man across from her, she thought of him as Kyoya. Her thoughts reveled in that dip created by the central “O” flanked by two “y’s”. Everything she loved about him was in that name. And he knew.

She whispered almost unintelligibly, “I don’t hate you, but I hate what you’re doing to me right now.”

Kyoya started again, “Yelim-,” before being cut off.

She steeled herself up. Her voice went monotone and she looked away, unable to meet his eyes. “Fine. I’ll tell you what you want to hear. I’ve had feelings for you for a long time, is that it? Even though I told myself it couldn’t happen. Even though I knew you wouldn’t feel the same way. It turns out you can’t talk your way out of your feelings.” She let out a flat exhale of air, almost a laugh, if it weren’t for the circumstances. “But, Ootori-san,” She started again, staring at the floor, “I value you endlessly as someone who’s done so much for family, and maybe even, as a friend if you’d allow me to see our relationship in that way. I was just… shocked that day in the Host Club room, but I won’t allow my personal feelings to mix up in business anymore; that’s just unprofessional. Okay?” Kyoya didn’t say anything. Yelim’s anxiety shot up even more, as well as this strange sense of annoyance. The silence became too much for her, and she had to fill it. “If my presence becomes too uncomfortable for you I will gladly have a fellow worker take my place at the Host Club as well as any other events you need someone from the Bakery to personally oversee. I know people who will do a good job, people who…”

Kyoya finally put up a hand, as to stop Yelim from further speech, before rifling through his brief case, taking out a notebook, and flipping to a specific page. He marked it with his finger before making a motion to pass it to Yelim. She was puzzled before he called her attention, forcing her to make eye contact, “Yelim,” he started, “please read this”. She took the notebook from him, sliding her own finger into the fold of the book to mark the page. Before she could open the book and read from it, he gestured to his booth. “Shall we sit?” He suggested.

Yelim felt as though she was having an out-of-body experience. She had no real control over her movements as she sat across from Kyoya, no coherent thought as she felt the smooth texture of the notebook pages surrounding her index finger. Finally, they sat, and she cracked the book open, afraid to read it. At the top of page, on the right hand side, was written in bold lettering “The Ootori Group Meeting Notes for the Acquisition of the Tsubaki Complex”. It was dated from last week, the day before she ran out of the Host Club.

She immediately looked back up at Kyoya, unsure if she could read further. The Tsubaki Complex was the name of the strip mall that housed Kwon Bakery. It wasn’t pretty, but it was in a fairly good location, adjacent to a heavily-trafficked road, and for Yelim, it was a second home. Some neighboring shops had gone in and out of business, and some retail locations were still unoccupied since their last tenants moved out. But she had known some of the businesses and their owners for years. She had known Hayashi Megumi, owner of the Hayashi Flower Shop upstairs, since she was a little girl. Hayashi-san was even a grandmotherly figure to her. Every Friday, Yelim never failed to visit Hayashi-san, exchanging some melon bread for a handful of lilies. Now their livelihoods were in the hands of the Ootori family. How? Why? None of this made sense to Yelim, but before she could say a single word, Kyoya began to explain.

“You don’t happen to know who receives the money from your bakery’s rent, do you?” Yelim was speechless. Of course she didn’t. Her mother and aunt were the ones to take care of the financial side of the bakery, and Kyoya knew that. She was disturbed. For a man who had just said he wasn’t interested in playing games, he seemed to be toying with her emotions as carelessly as one would toss around a yo-yo.

Kyoya seemed to read at least part of her emotions, before continuing, “They were all written to Shido Properties.” Shido… that did sound familiar to Yelim, but she couldn’t imagine why. She never had to balance the checkbooks. “About a year and a half ago, their company made a soft decision to end every lease contract with all the businesses in the Tsubaki Complex. This happened when the Shido family’s first-born came to your bakery for a catering order. He saw the value of the location, as well as the comparative non-value of its tenants, and was inspired to rent the property to a chain grocery store instead. It would have all happened within a month.”

For Yelim, this was too much and yet too little information. She hungered for more details but also wanted to place her hands over her ears. “What are you talking about? We haven’t had a notice to leave the property. What does this have to do with the Ootori Group?”

Kyoya simply responded, “He was here to have his wedding catered.”

The facts suddenly came together. Shido, Shido, Shido. It sounded so familiar because it was familiar. Shido-san was Fuyumi’s fiancé, and now husband. When she remembered back, she could conjure some dusty, blurred memories of a suited man who had come in to inquire about the status of the wedding dishes. While discussing portions and alternative dishes for people with dietary restrictions, he had also asked what Yelim assumed were innocuous questions about her family’s business. Yelim had said something humble, like she was supposed to, something along the lines of, “We have a good, regular stream of customers, but there is always room for improvement, especially considering the economy.” How could she have known that the fate of her family’s business, of Hayashi-san’s business, of all the businesses in the Tsubaki Complex, lay casually in the hands of this well-dressed, but otherwise unremarkable man? How could she have known that her modesty could have been everyone’s undoing?

Kyoya continued without pausing, “Your bakery would have been shut down, and considering that your family had just paid off its original bank loan and was only beginning to make a profit, you would not have been able to reopen at another location. It would have been the end of Kwon Bakery. However, Fuyumi told me about Shido’s plans, which allowed me to carry out my own plan.”

Yelim was stunned, but slowly the cogs in her brain started turning, connecting the dots. “All the changes you helped implement in the bakery…”

Kyoya nodded. “Yes- and all of those spreadsheets you bother me about? While a few were for school or for the Host Club, for a critical period, most were calculations of potential revenue streams not just for your bakery, but for all of the businesses in the Tsubaki Complex.”

Kyoya noticed Yelim’s surprised look, almost smiling before stating, “You helped me at times. You recall our discussions about hypothetical business strategies?”

She knew immediately what he was talking about. She called them their “What if?” conversations. Kyoya often initiated the game, starting off with a scenario in which a business had a problem, and the two of them competed to craft the best solution. This game was often played while she was refilling his tea, or during the less busy times while she was catering for one of his events.

Yelim nodded slowly to signal that she remembered their games. Kyoya asked more specifically, “Do you remember the scenario about the grocer?”

Oh yeah, that was a heated discussion. The Grocer Scenario involved a man running his own struggling grocery shop. The issue was that he was losing money. Not only were customers drifting more towards large chain markets, the farmers he worked with were increasing their own prices. His profit margins were decreasing. Kyoya thought that the grocer should cut his ties with his current farmers and do more research to find the farmers that would sell their produce for the lowest price, even if that meant buying tomatoes from one farmer, and cucumbers from another.

Yelim disagreed. She thought that the grocer should cut the number of farmers he was sourcing from, to better develop strong business relationships with the ones who were most loyal. Although the produce might seem to cost more upfront, the grocer could convince the farmer to give a sort-of “wholesale discount” due to the sheer amount of produce purchased. Then, over time, even better deals would be made due to the continually-improving relationship between the grocer and his farmers. Additionally, the grocer could use those relationships as a marketing advantage, encouraging customers to buy from local, known farmers.

The Grocer Scenario was one of the few scenarios in which neither could claim victory. They argued over it for a full week before calling it a draw.

Kyoya could see that Yelim remembered, and continued his explanation. “The ‘grocer’ was actually the florist, Hayashi Megumi. I worked with her and discussed the two plans we devised, and due to her caring nature, she decided to maintain relationships with her closest gardeners, essentially taking your path. Her profit margins increased two-fold immediately, and continue to increase to this day.” Yelim felt her jaw drop the slightest bit. She couldn’t disentangle the millions of feelings she felt mix inside her head: confusion, surprise, happiness, amazement, and even victory, since her plan was the chosen one, and it had helped one of her favorite people. If she thought about it, she had noticed that Hayashi-san’s shop looked busier over the past year- the lilies gifted to Yelim looked fresher and were more fragrant.

Kyoya continued without stopping, “I helped all the businesses in the complex that had the potential for entrepreneurial success as long as they were pushed in the right direction, but some were too far in debt to be saved. Even so, the empty stores were useful. When I started drafting a proposal to buy the Tsubaki Complex, I suggested using the empty spaces as satellite locations for Ootori Group enterprises, specifically lab testing facilities.”

Yelim had so many questions, but she was only able to vocalize a few, “When did you start this? And how the hell were you able to do this when Shido Properties was going to close us within the month? It’s been over a year and a half since the wedding!”

Kyoya responded, “I initiated this plan the week Fuyumi told me about Shido’s intentions, which was the week after her wedding. I talked to Shido confidentially, and convinced him to wait two years before selling his place.”

Yelim was incredulous, “How did you convince him?”

Kyoya replied, “I provided him with, shall we say, a ‘concrete incentive’ for his patience.” Yelim knew Kyoya well enough to read between the lines. He had paid Shido what had to be a ridiculous sum of money to prevent him from selling immediately. Kyoya leaned back in his chair a bit, before remarking, “The Board voted last week. Starting this month, your rent checks are signed to the Ootori Group. I wanted to tell you last week at the Club, but you ran out.”

Yelim’s thoughts twisted and turned. “I still don’t understand.” She began. “Even considering all of the revenue increases from the businesses, and the potential for the space to be used by your company, the profit margin has to be razor thin… not to mention your own personal time and investment.”

Kyoya grinned? Was that the beginnings of a grin Yelim spotted? Yet she didn’t see the smile reach his eyes. He crossed his arms before teasing, “For being such a worthy competitor in our ‘What If?’ games, you can be quite clueless.” Yelim was about to respond, retort ready to fire at a moment’s notice but he continued speaking.

“You must have wondered why I never asked you to be so formal around me, when everyone else did.” He stated.

Yelim scoffed before replying, “I just assumed it was some power play. That you had me strictly categorized as a server and the formality made it clear.”

Kyoya’s eyebrows furrowed as he shot back, “Do you really think me as something so… inhuman?” Yelim was shocked at his sudden, irritated response. He almost sounded hurt. “While trying to help your business, and the others’, I had to maintain an air that was as objective as possible. It wouldn’t have helped if Shido or one of his associates came to visit the complex and saw that I might have a personal stake in the deal. On Shido’s side, it would have driven up the price and made negotiations more difficult. On my family’s side, they would’ve accused me of making an irrational business decision tainted by an emotional investment. In a way, I had to deceive both sides, and I even had to hide the truth from you.”

Yelim stuttered, “The… truth…”

Kyoya looked into her eyes, freezing Yelim on the spot. “Yes, the truth. Which is that all of this was for you.”

And there it was. The answer to the confession she burst out of pain and frustration, so gently given. Yelim didn’t know what to say or think, her heart beating faster than she thought was healthy. Her hands started to clasp tightly, trying to find some way to expend the adrenaline rush.

Kyoya continued, “It was hard at times. I started trying to find reasons to see you without crossing the border between professionalism and personal affairs. I limited myself to being in your bakery once a week, but soon that wasn’t enough. So I asked you to personally come to an event.”

Yelim recalled, “Oh, the Cherry Blossom Ball. I assumed you just wanted me to oversee things professionally. You said my presence would be advantageous to you.”

Kyoya responded, “Exactly. I never said why it was advantageous. You made it a professional reason, and likely that was the most logical interpretation, but it wasn’t the correct one.” He paused, before uttering, “Your presence at the ball was advantageous to me because it led me closer to you.”

She sputtered, “I- I never thought… I never knew…?” She tried to start a number of sentences but left them unfinished. The discarded words failed to communicate what she was feeling, until she finally said, “I’m sorry.” She sighed. “I’ve known you for over a year and yet I’ve judged you so poorly. It makes me wonder if I actually do know you.”

Before she knew it, Kyoya’s hands were over hers’. He extricated her fingers from their tightly laced grips, and held them gently, protectively within his. He replied, softly, “But I know you, Kwon Yelim. I know that you’re one of the best bakers in Japan, that you have so much potential in the world of business, that your academic weakness is World History, that you’ve lived in three different countries, and that you fight to see the best in people, even if the fight leads to dangerous emotional consequences. I know that you can turn cold hearts warm again. I know that you have seen me for who I am. I know that you truly know me, even if you don’t believe it yourself, but,” He squeezed her hands in his, “we have all the time for me to convince you. I’ll tell you everything you want to know.”

Yelim couldn’t help the color rise to her cheeks, the smile making its appearance across her face. No drug could ever replicate the joy she was feeling at the moment. An electric buzz went through her body, sparked at the contact points where Kyoya was caressing her hands. “Then where do we begin?” She teased, meeting his eyes.

Kyoya had an answer prepared, grinning a real grin this time, “Why don’t we start with my name?” He suggested with a coy tone.

“Yes…Kyoya.” She returned, reflecting his tone, “Why don’t we?”


End file.
